


the ones who bloom in the bitter snow

by brandflakeeee



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mentions of miscarriage, and alcohol abuse, based on patrick page's personal headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandflakeeee/pseuds/brandflakeeee
Summary: hades and persephone learn to try again, with a bit of a wrench in plans.
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown), Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	1. a beginning

She knows, even when he takes the girl to his office. 

She knows, when he looks down upon Orpheus as the boy bleeds - from his face and from his heart. 

She knows she’s carrying life within her frame, and thinks perhaps it’s better that said life won’t likely survive - Orpheus is just a  _ boy _ . The closest thing Persephone’s ever had to a child - and seeing the shades at her husband’s order beat him, she can only worry if Hades might do the same to a child of their own. It freezes her to the spot when she knows she could intervene, stop it in an instant because the shades wouldn’t dare touch her if she got between them and Orpheus. 

Persephone doesn’t. It makes her sick. 

She goes to Hades after, and can see the number done to her husband. The way his shoulders sag beneath the weight of everything, the way he runs his hands across his face. She pities him, in truth. After everything, her heart  _ aches _ for him. She knows how they got here and it kills her that they’ve devolved so painfully from what used to be an unstoppable display of strength in their marriage. She’s been an absolute monster as much as he has. They both have their faults and they’re slipping down a terrible path. If they keep going like this, there’ll be no redemption. No turning back from the road they’ve set out on. 

“Have a drink why don’t you?”

“No. I’ve had enough.” 

Persephone’s voice is hoarse from being on the verge of tears. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t immediately show it. No - this ends now. No more idle hands of her own, no more numbness at the bottom of a bottle. It’s not a thought she’s voiced before, but it slips out easy as pie against his bitter tone. As if he expected it to be an insult - and normally, it would be. But Persephone refuses to let it get under her skin. Despite everything, the babe in her belly deserves a chance and pickling it in her gut by drinking ain’t doing it any favors. If it even survives. Given her track record? There’s little faith. But something in the voices that whisper at the shell of her ear as she faces down her husband tell her otherwise. 

He grants Orpheus a chance. One, fleeting little chance. It’s a start. 

The poet sings, her hands shake. Her memories are launched back into a time she’d nearly forgotten. She stares at her Hades, her husband, her light, and knows he’s thinking of the same memories. Lost in the same thoughts the poet’s melody - no,  _ their _ melody. An ancient song written into the bones of the earth itself, into their very souls. It sweeps through her like a summer’s breeze and sets her veins on fire, breathing life into her in a way she ain’t felt in a while. The darkness of the underworld - beyond the artificial lights and flickering power grids - doesn’t seem nearly so dim. The room spins. Orpheus’ voice soars. 

_ It’s you, _ her mind says of Hades. Her husband. The man she fell in love with. 

_ It’s me, _ she can nearly hear his voice. They’re suddenly close - beyond so. He reaches for her and Persephone feels her breath catch as he offers up a flower, so beautiful and red. A glimpse of love blooming through the cracks. She tucks it into his lapel, just over his heart and her fingers linger against his chest. He offers her another hand and she takes it without thinking, feeling like her own heart might lodge into her throat. The man before her seems a far cry from the man who’d picked her up on the train above some time ago. 

This is the man who is  _ not _ his father, the one who could be a good father to their child. The child he doesn’t know about, the one she isn’t even sure will survive or if it’ll be swept away like all the others. Does she tell him? Get his hopes up? Or will it shatter the fragile peace she suddenly feels between them as he turns her in his arms. Their song becomes their dance and as they spin together like two orbiting stars, Persephone feels years lift from her age. His expression is soft, smiling - gods, she ain’t seen that smile in so long. It suits him far better. Those heavy lines in his face lessen. The rest of the room fades away and its suddenly only the two of them at the beginning of time again. Love that set the world turning some thousand odd years ago.

The melody may fade, but he doesn’t let go. Neither does she. Persephone rests her head against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her frame and they sway together, cherishing whatever moment they’ve been given. Sure they’ve been a bit of a mess these past years, but she’d be a damned liar if she said she still didn’t love him. She’d never taken off her wedding ring. Never demanded divorce - Hades is everything to her. 

_ The girl means everything to him _ .

“I missed ya.” He rumbles; she feels it more than hears it, that gravelly voice of his resonating deep in his chest. Thick with emotion. She could tell him that she’s been there the whole time, that he could have just looked  _ up _ for a damn minute from his work and paid attention to his wife - but she doesn’t. Because it’ll ruin everything, namely. Cleared from the liquored up fog usually in her mind, Persephone understands that coming at him with venom in her mouth will do nothing but tear them further apart. 

“I’m pregnant.” She whispers in return; she feels him tense briefly, but he doesn’t pull away. After a long moment of agonizing quiet, Persephone feels him press a kiss to her hair and hold her a fraction closer. 

Things might be alright, she thinks. She doesn’t have time to ask. 

Poet and songbird are speaking, and they need answers. Selfishly she doesn’t want to release him. They’ve a lot to talk about, her and him. If he just lets the boy and girl go -

And he does. And doesn’t. A test. Left to them to pass or fail. 

“How about you and I? Are we gonna try again?” She asks in the silence after they’ve left, embarking on a journey as emotionally tolling as it is physically. She knows that walk. Decades of it up and down before the train was ever a thought. Hades looks at her with those dark, almost sad eyes. 

“It’s almost spring. We’ll try again next fall.”

Time is running out. She’s due back up top. On  _ time _ . The way he speaks - does he think their child might not make it? How can they expect to bring life into such a distressed marriage anyway? Into a realm split in half. But he reaches out to her again and Persephone takes his hand. His other comes forward to rest against her belly in the most tender gesture she could ever imagine a mighty man like him making. Praying? 

  
“Wait for me?” Persephone murmurs, and his smile is sad - but not bitter. Defeated, perhaps.   
  
“I will.”


	2. in her mother's garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it should be noted this is just a side project for me, which means the chapters may not be nearly as long as some of my other fics. still, hope you enjoy!

She doesn’t tell her momma. 

There’s no need, not yet. Not until she’s  _ sure _ . Were she more of a religious sort, Persephone would pray - but she ain’t on the good side of any of the gods that have to do with children or fertility and they haven’t listened when she’s tried to pray to them before so why would they now? No, she simply asks the fates to be kind this time, and  _ let them have this _ . After the winter they’ve just had and the heartbreak of the poet and the songbird . . . surely there’s good left for her and Hades to find. A promise to try again is one thing when they’re face to face, it’s another thing entirely when they’re separated by realms. She has to believe him, trust him - the way he has to trust her that she’ll come back to him. 

So Persephone does what she does every summer, and works. 

The garden flourishes even within the first few days of her return to the topside, radiating life and vibrancy. Demeter is already out in the fields helping sets the seeds to sow and it had taken all of Persephone’s convincing to get out of that part of her work. As much as it killed her to take  _ anything _ easy, Persephone refused to risk anything that might make her lose the tiny not-yet being nestled in her belly. A fierce determination had set in her heart; she’d even taken herself away from the liquor. Her fingers trembled from the loss but it was better than facing another miscarriage. She’d drink if that happened, drunk until she went blind. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Hades, in case things went sour - but she knows he’d never forgive her if he turned up in the fall and she was the size of a melon around her middle. That kind of news wouldn’t sit well in a letter. 

Her fingers trace the delicate edges of a group of daisies, the petals preening toward her as if she were the sun. She smiles softly; as much as she used to hate being retained in this damned garden, it’s where she feels most in her element.  _ Life _ . Encouraging things to grow and bloom. She’d intended to be a mother some time ago, to nourish life in the most natural way - but that hope had faded more and more with each babe lost well before they could ever have a heartbeat. She had ached, and so had Hades. She’d grown furious and frustrated at time wore on, angry she couldn’t grow life in the way it mattered most. All of it had only thrown another wall up between her and Hades over the years until they’d simply given up, stopped trying. 

Leave it to a round or two of furious, spiteful sex to be the one that stuck. 

Guess the poet and songbird had given them more than the gift of song, too. That delicate melody - Persephone intends to lull her babe to sleep with it every night. A reminder, a promise. Love blooming through the cracks, tearing down walls between her and Hades. 

If things go well, she won’t be able to hide it from her momma for long. The nausea had her throwing up in a blackberry bush earlier, after Demeter had left. Not to mention if her momma sees her refusing the drink, she’ll be suspicious. Better she finds out at the beginning - gives them more time together to figure out a new arrangement. She’s never admitted it to Demeter but if Persephone ever had children with her husband, she’d intended to re-work this little six-month custody battle. The fact still stands. She refuses to leave a child without a parent half the year. Ain’t fair or right or natural and they are  _ not _ the absent parents of the lot up on the mountain. Not ones to just abandon a babe to its own devices as soon as it can crawl. Not to mention she doesn’t want  _ any _ of the ones on the mountain near any child of hers - both for obvious reasons, and for damned common sense. 

Hera is on her shitlist anyway. The very top of it, in fact. The monster of a woman. Not all of Persephone’s child losses had been accidents.

“You just hang in there, I’ll keep you safe.” She murmurs to whatever tiny cluster of stardust is there in her gut. Few weeks more, she thinks, then she’ll be in the safe zone. Past the time she lost the others. One day at a time, she promised herself. Even if those days are long and agonizing, not knowing. Keeping the secret to herself - Hades is the only other who knows. The fates probably do, given their meddling in everything. Much as she wants to think ill of them, she tries not to - women can probably read minds and she doesn’t need their wrath on her when things are so delicate at the moment. Those threads of life they weave can easily be clipped. 

There’s too much to think about. What ifs. Persephone tries to focus on the task at hand as she knees into one of the flowerbeds to begin weeding them out. It’s more or less the same process every spring, though usually they look a lot more haggard. Harsh, long winters that ravage the landscape and it’s flora and fauna. This one hadn’t been so bad, her momma had said. Started off rough, but ended up not doing too bad by the end. The ground wasn’t nearly so hard, meaning the fields could be tilled earlier instead of waiting for the earth to defrost from it’s icy nap. Six months this time, she tells herself. Hades will hold true in his promise, she wants to believe. Desperately. She’ll believe it when she sees it - but damn if those six months don’t seem like an eternity quite suddenly with this new development. 

  
The narcissus flower buds seem to shiver as she moves around them, pulling invading weeds from near their stems. They’re one of the first to bloom in the spring, one of her favorites. 

There’s a rustling in the underbrush, and a thin little snake shoots out from cover. Persephone fixes it with a look, which the snake does not return. 

“The answer is same as yesterday. No changes. I’m fine.” She says, leaning back. The snake blinks, head swaying lightly as its tongue darts out to flicker at her hand. Flicker? Did snakes’ tongues flicker? Whatever the hell they did, it tickled. Carefully she scoops the creature up, fingers trailing along the scales that are patterned just a little too much like the bricks of her husband’s tattoo. 

“You gonna check in on me every day like this, lover?” Persephone asks as the snake eyes her. Yesterday and the day before last it had been the same - that she’s aware of. It’s a neat little trick of her husband’s. Snakes, dogs, cattle, horses; he can be seen as any of them, but the snakes are easiest to control. Smaller, less fight in them. Easier to be found in a garden, too - not like she or her momma kept cattle around and the only horse allowed in the garden was her brother (and even then Demeter would put her foot down if he started nibbling the hydrangeas). 

The snake lifts its head in what could be considered a nod. 

“You know you could write letters. Ain’t nearly so taxin’ on you.” She muses. “Hermes would see they get to me. And I’ll write you back. That way these conversations ain’t so one sided.” But the creature is not listening, slithering it’s way around her wrist and up to her shoulder, bumping it’s head against her cheek. Is that a yes or a no? She hasn’t figured out snake language yet. Not that she really intends to - figures her husband can’t be  _ normal _ and write a damned letter. Has to do something weird instead, where it’s impossible for her to tell. 

“Promise if somethin’ changes, I’ll tell you.” She tries to appease her husband-snake (or is it snake-husband?). “But we really oughta stop meetin’ like this.”

Hades-snake simply dips his head beneath the sleeve of her dress. 

“Stay out of my bra, Hades.”

While her husband doesn’t ever speak, Persephone continues her work in the garden. The snake simply coils itself in various places against her, clearly determined to provide some strange sense of closeness in any way he can. It’s not the same of course, and it’s not like she and Hades can have meaningful conversations this way. They got a lot to talk about; marriages ain’t fixed in a day. And he can’t gallop up here every day. It leaves them in a stalemate for six months, restricted in their visitation. It’s harder for her to go down below to visit even for a day than it is for him to come up - granted, Demeter will be in a mood for days if Hades comes to visit. 

Frankly, Persephone doesn’t give a damn.

She loves her mother, but sometimes she wants to lose her mind at her momma’s rules, regulations, and attitudes toward Hades. They need to bury the hatchet. It’s been literal decades. She used to understand her momma’s anger, thinking Hades had swept Persephone away against her will. But it’s been decades in which Persephone has explained time and again she’d gone far too willingly. That she’d do it again in a heartbeat. Despite their rather rocky past several years, she doesn’t regret it. Her husband can be an idiot and so can she and that’s just how their marriage works, really. They have their moments. What marriage doesn’t? If things were perfect, it’d be unnatural. Uncomfortable. 

Hades-the-snake keeps her company well enough for a while, but she knows it exhausts him to maintain control - especially if he’s also trying to work down below. Splitting his attention doesn’t help.    
  
“Go, lover. I’m fine. *We’re* fine.” She presses a kiss to the top of the swaying snake’s head when it crops back up again. “I know you want this.” Persephone adds, quieter. “Much as I do. Few weeks more and we’ll be in the clear.” A promise. Because she’s nothing if not determined. To give this child every chance she can. If only it understood how *wanted* it was. How much it was already loved.    
  
“I’ll send Hermes with a letter.” Persephone continues, wiping her soil-covered hands on the overalls she wears - an old pair, worn and somewhat holey. “Write to me. Visit in person. Always more enjoyable when we can have a conversation back and forth.” Her lips twitch faintly. “We got a lot to discuss, you know.”   
  
If a snake could look un-enthused, she decides that’s the expression she gets in return. 

“Kore, who’re you talkin’ to?”

  
Her mother’s voice startles her echoing around the side of the farmhouse her momma calls home. She shoots another glance to the snake, who is already darting back off into the brush. It lingers, briefly, with a look back her way - but it disappears half a second later.    
  
“Just the flowers, momma. Not a soul otherwise.”


	3. summer days

It’s too hot. 

She can’t remember the last time a summer has been  _ this fucking hot _ .

It’s worse than Hadestown ever thought of being. The sun doesn’t relent even on the days it rains and even then the water from the sky is hot and might as well turn to steam before it even hits her skin. The nights are a brief reprieve, but only just. As if the world being back in tune even slightly had ramped up the springs and summers into overdrive - or her own self, constantly nourishing life, had sent the world into overdrive. Hard to think one goddess could cause it; then again, she considers the damage her own momma can do in the winters. 

What she wouldn’t give for it to be the dead of winter right now and she could be stuffed in a snowbank to cool off. 

For now, her lightest fabric dress and the glass of ice pressed against her forehead will do the trick. It’s somewhat cooler in the shade of her momma’s porch where Persephone is stretched out across the patio swing, rocking herself idly in an attempt to get some sort of breeze where there is none. She glass leaves trails of condensation in it’s wake on her skin, though at a glance it seems indistinguishable from her own sweat. It ain’t even in the middle of the season yet and it’s this hot - well, it doesn’t bode well. She and Hades ain’t even got their shit entirely together just yet and already the world’s returned to something hotter and brighter. 

Or Apollo’s having a damned laugh, which is also possible. 

Fanning herself with her other hand, she snags a cube from the glass into her mouth. It starts melting immediately on her tongue as she rolls it around, balancing the glass on her bare thigh. If she knew it’d help she’d throw herself in a cold bath. What was the point when she was bound to start sweating again? 

“It’d be nice if your daddy decided to visit right about now. Cool his whole place off faster than frost.” Persephone murmurs lowly to her middle. There was no response - as there never was - except a vague lurch of nausea. The heat does nothing for the sickness that lasts beyond morning except make it vaguely worse. Least she can keep water down; everything else seems to be a toss-up, quite literally. But it gives her faith that things might turn out this time with this child; her previous pregnancies had never been quite so nauseating. She puts up with it though. Worth it, if things work out. 

“You ain’t melted yet, sister?” Hermes’ voice carries across the yard and she lifts her head, crunching down on the ice cube in her mouth. Still wearing that damned suit and not even breaking a sweat. She doesn’t know how he does it, bastard. 

“Close, I reckon. Gonna melt right through the slats in the porch into the ground. Hell, I’d crawl under there if I knew it’d be cooler.” She mutters as he bounces up the three steps from the path to the porch, grinning six ways to Sunday. She throws him a withering look and he only smiles in that charming way of his. 

“You gonna offer your guest a glass of somethin’ cold?”

“Your legs ain’t broken.” Persephone drawls. “Help your damn self. Not that you don’t got a slew of cold things in that bar of yours.”

“Alcohol and heat don’t mix. Clearly you know that.” He nods toward her glass, but he helps himself to another glass of ice water from the pitcher and plants himself in the chair nearby. 

“Since I’m not drinkin’ alcohol you should know not to push my buttons. Ain’t as nice unless I’m boozed up.” She remarks dryly, and pops another ice cube into her mouth to chew on. Her stomach rolls, threatening another bout of nausea. She’s not real eager to lose what little she has in her belly in front of Hermes and be forced to explain things she’s not ready to explain. 

“You may not be boozed up, but a birdie tells me you’re  _ knocked up _ .”

Well,  _ shit _ .

Hermes brandishes a letter she recognizes immediately as the paper is the same as one of her husband’s ledgers. She reaches forward to snatch it and immediately regrets the motion as her stomach reminds her who’s currently in charge. Her brother seems to pity her though as her knuckles turn white on her glass, and leans forward to hand her the letter. 

“I didn’t read it.” He answers before she can ask, her fingers brushing the aged parchment. Everything always seems old as hell from the underworld. “He told me.”

“Like hell.”

“Alright, I wormed it outta him. He was bein’ weird and you know me -”

“You old gossip.” Persephone huffs. “Don’t you dare breathe a word. I - we don’t know . . . .”

“I know.” Hermes lifts his hands, showing his defenselessness. Persephone only briefly glimpses it before she closes her eyes, pretending the world isn’t spinning. She has to steady her foot on the ground like she used to do when she woke up hungover and the room would spin relentlessly. Not nearly as much fun, being pregnant over being drunk, but Persephone will  _ learn _ to appreciate. If this one stays, Persephone vows to love every minute of it that she can. Appreciate it where she couldn’t before, where she might not to get to again. Her hand instinctively trails to her abdomen, resting there. There’s no change of course; she’s never been shredded in that area like some of her godly brethren, just soft. Ready to hold a life, to nurture and the like. Something poetic that she can’t figure out at the moment. 

Persephone bites down on the ice in her mouth, focusing on the way it crushes and offers slight relief from the heat. Briefly. She still might melt. 

“You think it might be worth lettin’ Ellie take a look?” Hermes says, and Persephone’s sure that if her expression were capable of killing, Hermes would be dead and dust.

“Fat fucking chance and you’re more of an idiot than I thought if you think otherwise.”

“She ain’t her momma, sister. Just the way you ain’t your momma.”

“I don’t want  _ any _ of ‘em near me. I’ll get what I need from momma and anythin’ else from Hecate.” Her teeth grit against each other. Painfully. “And I’m sure Hades agrees.”

“He does. Just thought I might try convincin’ you over him.” Hermes mutters and when Persephone opens her eyes again he’s looking away, staring across the front yard. If she looked closer, she’s sure she could see the concern in his eyes. But even from here it’s obvious. Hermes fusses. Always does. He’s been kind to her in the past when she’d been suffering and had comforted her and Hades both after the loss of Zagreus. She knows he must be worried she’s about to do it all again and with no true proof it might turn out different. She can’t blame him; he’s used to telling the stories that never have happy endings - or endings at all. 

“I ain’t got anythin’ against Ellie. Or her siblings. But I don’t trust her momma and I don’t want her knowin’ about this. This is  _ ours _ .” Her fingers curl against her middle as if she might protect whatever life is trying it’s best to survive. One she’s determined to let  _ thrive _ . Swallowing another gulp of water, Persephone leans her head back against the porch swing. 

“She wouldn’t hurt you -”

“No, but her momma finds out and suddenly I’ve lost another child to her meddlin’.” Persephone snaps. The loss of her pregnancies had been a sore spot for decades, but Zagreus had been a gaping hole. Unfillable. Painful to even think his name most days. Sometimes she can imagine him grown - all dark hair and bright eyes like his daddy, with her freckles and skin tone. Maybe her nose. A life he never got to live beyond her body, his essence taken by the goddess Persephone had begged to protect him. Destroyed. Gone in an instant before she’d realised, and turned over to monsters to dispose of. Like  _ garbage _ . All because of some long-seething jealousy and worry that he might usurp those above. A belief that no child could come before her own - 

Persephone tries to remember how to breathe, trying not to let herself get lost in painful memories. Not now. 

“How’s our boy?”

Hermes doesn’t look pleased at her attempt to change the subject, but his expression softens at the mention of Orpheus. The boy they’d both ended up raising. Persephone loves him like a son as much as Hermes does and she hasn’t heard a peep from him since . . . . well,  _ since _ . She and Hades owe everything to that boy. The song that sings so strongly through her now loops through her husband’s heart far below. Through their child. She and Hades still have a marriage to rebuild together, but for the first time in a while she has a decent amount of hope in her. 

Persephone pities Orpheus. His life has never been easy or kind, but his voice in the world was a beacon. A beauty. And now with Eurydice lost to him - if she were able to, Persephone would without a doubt restore the girl to life. To hell with the laws of the underworld: she was queen, she could do as she liked! What was the point otherwise? 

But she can’t. Eurydice had made her deal and Persephone cannot break it. Not yet, at least. She needs to get out of her own contract first. 

“He’s - alive, if you could call it that. Not the same, of course. Hasn’t touched that lyre.”

“Don’t expect him to anytime soon. He’s grievin’. She meant everything to him.” She murmurs. “Still does. I wish things had turned out different this time.”

“Like you and your man?” Hermes studies her. Persephone doesn’t respond, suddenly remembering the letter she’s been holding against her chest. She gently unfolds it, undoes the fancy little wax seal and everything Hades had gone through to make it look  _ official _ or whatever. His scrawl is familiar and makes her heart do a funny little jump. He really had written her a letter. 

_ Lover, _

_ Never been good at letters. Miss you. Reckon you were right in that we got a lot to talk about. Probably better to do face to face. I’ll be up in a few weeks. Got some things to show you. Good things.  _

_ This place is too quiet without you. I hope your work isn’t as much this year.  _

_ The girl is doing okay. _

_ Stay safe. Love you. The both of you _ . 

Man of few words, her husband. But it’s the first letter she’s gotten in decades which means something all on it’s own. She rereads his words, tracing the letters absentmindedly like some lovestruck fool. If Hermes notices, he doesn’t make a comment - for the better, she thinks. She’ll have to write back to him, even if he intends to visit in a few weeks. Gives her time to mentally prepare her momma - if she decides to even tell Demeter. She’s curious what he could have to show her, and somehow apprehensive; her husband’s surprises in the past haven’t exactly got the best track record in her loving them. 

Eurydice. She wonders if he’d be willing to let the girl write a letter to be delivered to Orpheus. Surely there’s a soft spot in her husband for the couple who reminded them how to love again. Who set them back on their original path and away from the suffocating darkness that threatened to drown them both. 

Both - the way he signs the letter to  _ both _ of them. Her and their child-who-barely-is. He cares, she knows. More than he’d ever dare admit to Hermes or anyone else. Strong and surly as he is, Hades wants this to work out as much as she does - if not more. 

Hades doesn’t write songs or play a lyre or daydream, but he is her Orpheus. And the doubt that came sinking into their marriage had been their undoing. A warning at first, blown far beyond scale until they were at each other’s throats. It seems strange to consider now. Still, she finds herself looking more than forward to Hades’ visit. A chance to talk - of which they got a lot to do. At the very least, the weather might cool the hell down. 

“You got time to wait until I write him back?” Persephone asks of Hermes, who makes a vague noise in the back of his throat in acknowledgement that she understands as ‘yes’. “Thanks, brother. You’re good to an old woman.”

“If you’re old, what the hell does that make me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ellie is a reference to the greek goddess of childbirth, Eileithyia, who's mother is Hera.


	4. a request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a small update. sorry for the delay! next chapter i promise more! <3 thank you for your kind reviews.

Pain. 

It’s a familiar sensation, one she’s never been on good terms with. It takes her breath away - so she can recall. Everything seems a bit blurred. Persephone blinks in the haze that fogs her mine, wincing at the fading ache in her middle. Her fingers immediately fly (clumsily) to her belly, but they’re caught by someone else. 

“Its alright.” The one who speaks is an older woman, gray hair twisted up and away from her face. 

“Auntie Hes.” Persephone murmurs, confused. She feels lethargic as hell - worse than any alcoholic high ever thought of being. “What’re you doin’ here?” Her brows furrow, her mind attempting to catch up - and she feels a cold shot of panic douse her. The pain she remembers then, the cramps, the earlier panic and even though it’s still a bit of a blur, she feels tears welling up in her eyes and bile rising in the back of her throat. She’s been here before. Far too many times. Her mouth opens, but she can’t bring herself to ask it or say it; words lodge somewhere in her throat. 

_ No, not again, please -- _

“It’s alright.” Hestia says again softly, resting a hand against Persephone’s face to brush away a tear that escapes the corner of her eye. “You’re fine, little flower. So’s that baby of yours.”

Persephone feels herself nearly sob in sheer relief. 

“You got a strong one there.” Hestia continues, her smile as gentle as a summer rain. “Your momma called me cause you passed out on her. Had a bit of bleedin’, but it’s stopped. Has the pain stopped?”

Persephone nods faintly, suddenly feeling nothing more like a girl than a woman. Hestia’s always had that effect on her, even more so than her own momma. Hestia is a kind woman, one of the only ones to trust on the mountain. Which is why it’s so alarming to see her in her own bedroom - granted, Demeter knows Persephone’s hesitation with trusting anyone off that mountain and Hestia is talented enough in her own right when it comes to most things. A jack of all trades. 

“Your body isn’t used to this sort of thing, Kore.” Hestia murmurs. “I’m not sayin’ you need to lock yourself away, but you need to take it easier on yourself for the sake of this one.” Hestia rests her hand on her belly. “And for yourself. Like I said - it’s a strong one. But it’s gonna need your help for a while. Your history isn’t top notch, the alcoholism -”

“I already gave it up.” Persephone mumbles, trying to ignore the headache forming behind her eyes. The terror followed by the relief had sent her blood pounding in her ears, rushing as she tried to grasp the concept that she  _ could _ have lost the child, but  _ didn’t _ . She doesn’t care what Hestia says - she’ll chain herself to the damned bed to keep the baby safe and sound for the next however many months. She’ll go insane of course, but the risk ain’t worth it. 

“I know. But you’ve been on it longer than you have off and it doesn’t magically repair the damage done.” Hestia replies. “---I mean to have the same conversation with that husband of yours. I know you two are having your arguments but those have gotta stop, too.”

“We promised to try again, Auntie Hes.” Persephone says. “He and I. We’re - we’re gonna do better this time.”

“Isn’t my place to judge you, little flower. I’m just telling you. Especially in keeping that blood pressure down. Yours already runs high and it needs to not.” Hestia leans forward to press a kiss against Persephone’s forehead. “We need to get food in you.”

“I need to write to Hades.” 

“Food first. I’ve given your momma some things to keep on hand that I want you taking. Every day. Do you and the little one both some good.”

“Yeah, I hear you. I will.” There’s no arguing with Hestia, Persephone has learned. It does very little. Going against her is like trying to climb a cliff face - it ain’t pretty, and you’re probably going to lose the battle. Part of her feels like she’s walking on eggshells, that even stepping down wrong or too hard might  _ hurt _ the babe who is relying on her to keep it safe. She could’ve lost it - gods only know she couldn’t dare have an easy go of things. That without warning something could go wrong - and it already had. She’d known her body was not particularly kind to a growing baby with her track record, but she trusted it to at least get with the damned program. 

“Good. Now - couldn’t exactly keep the secret from your momma, and she’s having a fit downstairs. Think you feel like talking? I’ll fix you up some tea and something to eat before I go back home.”

Persephone makes a noise of vague protest. Not exactly when or how she intended Demeter to find out - but the way things were going,  _ nothing _ was going to happen as she wanted or planned. Now she had to figure out a way to tell Hades, who would probably lose his mind and come drag her back to the underworld the second he opened her letter. Even if she waited to tell him face to face, he’d crack the earth open to drag her back to hell before she could dare protest. Even if they were trying again, certain they were going to repair their marriage - would he let her stay up top if he was worried she might pass out or be hurt every other day? 

“Thanks, Hes.” Persephone sighs, and Hestia offers her another smile, patting her cheek before she stands and heads for the door of Persephone’s bedroom. 

Persephone instinctively rests her hands on her middle. Protective. 

“Sorry this old body ain’t doin’ it’s job, baby.” She whispers. “I’m tryin’ though. To keep you safe. Alive. Though if you’re gonna start makin’ your momma pass out, we’re gonna have some words.” She adds, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of her dress to reach the bare skin beneath. It’s impossible for the baby to hear her, she knows, but no harm in it. “We gotta work together, you and me. Cause your daddy and I been waitin’ a long time for this . . . for you. And see, I got a good feelin’ ‘bout you.” The timing is not a coincidence, she thinks. Not saying a child will save their marriage, but Persephone knows it will help heal some of the hurt. They got a lot of shit to work through otherwise. 

“But we’ll try and have that worked out before you get here.” Persephone says aloud again, conversationally. It’s strange how easily it is to talk to something that barely exists. She’d never done it with any of the others before - maybe another good sign? “And have Hadestown built to somethin’ real decent. Least get rid of that wall. Wanna make sure you can see the stars, after all.”

Demeter’s steps climbing the stairs catch her attention, and Persephone falls quiet again. Her momma rounds the corner and into her room with an expression of concern written across her beautiful face. Persephone always thought her momma was beautiful, more than the ones up on the mountain. She holds a beauty that they can’t, the same one Hades had mentioned before that Persephone holds. Maybe her child will carry that same beauty. 

“Momma -” Persephone begins, but Demeter shushes her as she sits on the edge of Persephone’s bed and takes her face between her calloused hands. 

“You scared me half to death, darlin’. Don’t you do that to your momma again.” Demeter murmurs and much like Hestia earlier, Demeter presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead gently, but from there falls silent. Hesitant, clearly. Persephone can see it in her eyes as her momma’s brows furrow. “Hes says you need to take it easy for a while. For the baby you got brewin’ and didn’t tell me about.”

“I was waitin’.” Persephone mutters. “Wanted to make sure things stuck this time. Didn’t wanna jinx it.”

“Does Hades --?”

“Yeah - and yeah, it’s his, before you ask.”

“Wouldn’t expect anyone else’s, girl.” Demeter remarks. “How long?”

“I don’t know. Ask Auntie Hes.” Persephone squeezes her momma’s hand in her own. If anything, she feels like a scolded child again - it ain’t a feeling she likes. Not at the moment.

Demeter looks like something is on the edge of her tongue, close to slipping out. Persephone’s almost afraid to ask but thankfully, Demeter seems to find the courage to speak again.

“You want this?” 

Persephone swallows thickly, damning her own hesitation - but it’s not at the idea of it, of being a mother. It’s the way her momma asks. There’s a quiet  _ resignment _ to it that catches her off guard. Demeter knows she and Hades have tried and failed before; she remembers her momma holding her tight early one springtime because of it. Frankly, Persephone is terrified as all get out. Can she and Hades get their shit together soon enough? Will she even be a decent mother herself? What will they do when they’re separated six months out of every year? There are too many ‘what ifs’ and it’s dizzying to consider. Painful to consider, too. 

“Yeah.” Persephone replies at last. “I really do, momma. More than anythin’. Like I told Hes - we’re tryin’ again. Me and him. This past winter was . . . it changed things. We weren’t expectin’ this, but . . . he promised. So did I. We’re gonna do good this time.”

“It’s your choice, baby girl. I support whatever that choice is.” Demeter brings her hands to her lips to press a kiss to Persephone’s knuckles. “You know I do.”

“I mean everythin’ to him.” Persephone continues softly. 

“I know.”

“Then let me go.”

Demeter’s expression clouds for a moment, and Persephone feels her heart sink. She should have waited, stupid fool. Though part of her worries that if Hades comes up like he’s promised then Demeter will shut down any attempts to negotiate. If she can just get her foot in the door with her momma, make her see reason - well, things might not turn out so bad come fall. 

“I love you, momma. I always have, always will. But I know I can do good with the realm down below. They need me - much as this realm needs you. Hades needs me. This baby will need me, and it ain’t no life to have a parent gone half the year. I don’t wanna do this on my own for half the year. I don’t wanna be like daddy or any of the ones up there. We’re better than that and I wanna prove it.” Persephone tightens her fingers in Demeter’s. “Not forever. Not all the time. I can visit. A long weekend or come up to help a few days here or there . . . bring your grandbaby up for a visit.” A pause. “Just - think on it. Please.”

Demeter looks like Persephone might as well just asked to die. But isn’t that the truth of it? Persephone resigning herself to the underworld, as she had intended to do all those years ago in the garden when she’d first promised Hades? Much as she wants to hate the underworld these days, she can’t stand by anymore and let it continue to suffer. Let those shades toil and her husband install power grids until there’s no inch of darkness left down below. He’d promised Hadestown would be changed, but Persephone would rather be there herself to see it. To help - as she should have been all these years. 

No more idle bystander. If they’re gonna have a baby then Persephone is damned to be sure that baby will grow up in a realm to be proud of. A child of life and death, part of both the underworld and up top. She’ll introduce their babe to the sun, to her own realm when the time comes. And she’ll come help with the harvest when needed. It’s not as if she’s sealing herself away permanently. 

“I’ll think on it.” Demeter finally says, though acts as if it takes a great effort to do so. Thinking is a start, at least. Persephone has the bargaining chip though - a grandchild for Demeter. She has grandchildren through Persephone’s siblings but none of them are close; Persephone’s always been the favored daughter out of her siblings. Even with Demeter’s distaste for Hades, Persephone thinks that any child of hers would soften her momma up.

“You will?”

“I will. But only if you do as Hestia tells you for now - take what she’s brought, take it easy, that sort of thing.”

Persephone nods her promise. Demeter plants another kiss to her forehead.

“That’s my girl.”


End file.
